Torment
by Soronume
Summary: The story of Gilrin Hathol, a Sinda born in the First Age of Arda. Just to be clear Gilrin is NOT A MARY-SUE! AND NEVER WILL BE! Also includes some classic characters like Thranduil, Haldir, and Legolas.
1. Prologue

Torment

The Story of Gilrin Hathol

 _I see a 30-year-old elfling sleeping. She looks so peaceful. Suddenly I hear screaming. The sound of clashing swords, cries of pain, cries of despair. The elfling awakes. She runs outside. She has never seen the likes of this. She knew that her father, Arahaelon, was a well-respected warrior, but had only seen him in practice. She understands at once that this is real. She is in shock. Her mother screams to her to run inside and grab her mother's weapons. She can't find them. She looks in her mother's room, she looks in the sitting area, and looks in the kitchen, but can't find them anywhere. She finally finds her mother's sword in the basement. She runs upstairs and blasts out the door. She runs to her mother. She hands her mother her sword, called Berethcrist. She runs to her father to ask him to explain what's going on._

" _Ada! ADA! What's going on?!" she cries._

" _I love you Gil! I always will love you my dear!" Arahaelon screams with tears in his eyes._

" _What's going on? I love you too! Sevog i veleth-nin!" the elfling cries. Suddenly, for the first time ever, her father's arrow misses it's mark. A dwarf's throwing knife hits his head. His daughter screams out in fear, grief and despair. She runs to her mother who has seen her husband's death._

" _Stay close to me Gil. Stay close," the weeping mother whispers to her child._

" _Always, Nana," she responds, grief filling every word. Suddenly, twelve dwarves surround her and her mother. She being small was instructed to escape by her mother but wait for her by the palace of Thingol and Melian. She does so very quickly. She is halfway there, but sees her mother fighting off the dwarves. Her mother can not do it alone. The elfling wants to help, so she tries to run back to her mother's side, but she does not make it before her mother falls on a dwarf-axe._

" _NO!" screams the child, and for what seems like forever screams._

I awoke with a start, a cold sweat covering my body, and a scream to deafen any. My men started to surround me, thinking that I had spotted orcs, or something of the sort.

"No," I responded, "It was just a dream," and they all dispersed and went back to bed. But it wasn't just a dream. It's _never_ just a dream. It is my story.

I am Gilrin Hathol.

* * *

 **A/N** : Hello! This is the prologue to my first story! So just a couple of things, 30 is the physical and mental equivalent of the age of 5 for humans. Second, some elvish translations:

Sevog i veleth-nin: You have my love

Ada: Daddy

Nana: Mommy/mom

Please comment! I always like new ideas!


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

To start this properly, I have to start from the very beginning, when I was born. I was born in Doriath, in the late First Age. My father was a highly respected warrior of high social status. My mother was a friend of Galadriel and Queen Melian. It was a custom that when a child of their friends was born, they would present them with a gift of great value, not only monetary but as a guide to help the child with their journey through life. When Elu Thingol and Queen Melian came to us when I was born, I still didn't have a name. I was "our child". Elu Thingol and Queen Melian presented me with a circlet of jewels that looked incredibly like stars, so that the stars would always light my path in life. Melian had enchanted it so that it would grow with me, so I could wear it for all my days. My parents immediately decided my name: Gilrin, Lady crowned with Stars. At 30, I was about the same as a 5-year-old child of Men. I was only abnormal in the sense that my hair was a reddish-brown instead of silver or gold, like most of the Sindar and Teleri. I was not tall, not short. I didn't have shining glistening skin, as pure a colour as the morning sun. What I did have was my ambition. I knew I wanted to be something. Something magnificent.

When my my mother was killed, I layed beside her until the end of the battle, hidden and secluded. I finally took up her sword, Berethcrist and left her side. There was nothing left for me in Doriath. In sorrow and loneliness, I took a Perlino horse from the stables, never to be seen again in Doriath. I took only a few clothes and my circlet of star-jewels. My horse told me that her name was Fuirnil. I rode out into the dark, star-lit night, no home, no family, only the sword at my side that was almost as big as me.

?

 **A/N: Hi all, Soronume again. So just letting everyone know that I'm going to be posting at least twice a month. So much to do and so little time...**


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 _First Age, 3994_

In the time after what became known as the First Sack of Doriath, I travelled far and wide. Gradually growing into what was my mother's sword, I found solace in nothing. Occasionally, I would visit the Edain for clothes, I had grown, after all. Also, I needed treatment sometimes. I would often find myself being tracked by orcs, and most likely I would attack them, kill every one of them, then have severe wounds that had to be treated. Then I would need new clothes for all the times I had them cut and torn from skirmishes. Said skirmishes is where I honed my sword skills. The Edain also would let me use their practice dummies for sword skills. I would stay there for weeks on end. I couldn't find any Elvish colonies, and these people were so accepting, I just decided to stay for a while before I left to look for more Elves. In about 3 weeks, I got completely lost. I couldn't find the Edain again. All I could do was wander. Wander until my horse could not carry me anymore.

Suddenly, Orcs were behind me. Chasing me. Fuirnil, my horse, could not carry me any further. She was exhausted. I jumped off of her back, and faced them. The Orcs were hideous. It nearly pained me to look at them. But I had to fight. There was no choice left. I unsheathed Berethcrist, and fought. I used all the sword skills I had learned from the Edain. I had finally grown into my sword as well. Suddenly, an Orc charged at me. He looked different though. A sorrow in his eyes. This one used to be an Elf. He was one of the second types. This should not have affected me so. I decided not to kill him. I simply dodged him and dodged his blows. He was a good fighter, he would have been graceful when he used to be an Elf. I ducked and rolled, ducked, jumped. I killed all of his companions. But why could I not bring myself to finish him? Suddenly, I saw deep into his eyes. This was my friend. My childhood friend of Doriath, Agarion. I remembered how he disappeared during an Orc raid. All Orcs in that were killed, it was nothing more than a skirmish. But after that I never saw him again. He must have been tortured. Forced into this. I lost my balance. I fell onto the cold ground. His sword hovering above my heart, I was prepared to accept my fate… but the sword never fell. He had to have seen who I was. He did not simply end though. He struck my leg. I screamed out in pain, a pain I had never felt before.

"How?" was my only question, "How could you do this to me?" He did not reply, simply ran. And I was alone and hurt. Alone.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

I finally found Kingsfoil. Within a week of the Kingsfoil treatment my leg was healed. I was still lost, just now in a never-ending forest. No one to love me and take care of me. I became brittle. Orc attacks were becoming a daily routine. I was battle-hardened, no one would ever bring down the emotional wall I had created. All my hatred concealed, all my sorrow blocked from the world. I couldn't afford to be any other way. If I had any emotions, they were of murder and death to all who dared cross me. I came to like killing, I did it for fun. All stress gone in a flash. Often I would ride into random battles on Fuirnil. I would have no idea of the conflict at hand, I would just fight against orcs and help the Elves and Men in the battles for amusement. It was easy, and I got better every time. Soon, I discovered, I could wipe out an entire band of Orcs alone. The thrill of the battle, knowing that you could die any second, was incredible. I loved it more than anything. As soon as the battles were over I would simply leave. No trace that I was ever there. I never even had blood spilt. I would often take a weapon of the dead, which is how I got to be a master archer and long-knife wielder. I would leave with everyone asking who I was, but they would never know. I was a lone warrior, and by then I didn't want to live with anyone. I liked being alone where all my wrath could stay hidden. And no one would change that.

I continued this for a thousand years. Ride in, ride out without a trace. Kill orcs for pleasure. Not just orcs, food if I ever needed it. Killing my food was nearly as satisfying. I was a machine, a maniac. I had bloodlust. One day, I was riding the plains of who knows where, just looking for Orcs to kill. I hadn't a single kill in a month, and Berethcrist was hungry for more blood. Suddenly I saw it. A great darkening in the North. I thought _oooh Crebain! I love shooting Crebain!_. I rode closer. There were no Crebain. This was a dragon, a fire-drake of the North. I was incredibly happy, my biggest challenge yet, bringing down the Dragon. I charged at the Dragon, only to notice the hunting party. They were obviously tracking Orcs, their weapons had orc-blood on them. The party was now under attack. There were flames and fighting, attacks and retreats. From my angle, I could just make out that the leader had a crown. _He must be a king,_ I thought. A kingdom always needs a leader. Suddenly, this king was thrown off his horse. His horse burned, and he fell on his right cheek. The dragon came down, and as his stomach glowed gold under the black, I knew what was coming. Suddenly, the fire erupted. The king was being burned. I rode in and scooped him onto Fuirnil, but it was too late. His entire left side was burnt. And soon enough I realized that my cape was burning too. I quickly discarded of my cape, and rode on. We escaped the fire. I began to treat him with reserve Kingsfoil I had. I knew it would not do much, but it was worth a try. As I began the treatment, the climax of the battle was nearing. The Kingsfoil was not working at all. I had two choices to make: attempt to save the king with a treatment that was not working, or kill the dragon. I decided to kill the dragon. I took up Berethcrist and jumped nimbly onto Fuirnil's back. From there I jumped to the dragon's talons, swung onto his tail. He tried to jolt me off, but I was there for good. The hunting party was losing. I'm going to rephrase that, all but one were dead. The one still alive was the one I thought was a king, but he was barely hanging on. I agily swung off the dragon's tail and to his back. There was only one way I could kill him from up here: go under his neck scales. I held Berethcrist high, and rolled dramatically to his neck. I lied down gripping his scales. He was still trying to throw me off, and it still wasn't working. With my right hand I held Berethcrist high, and slid my sword under his scales and right into his spine. He came crashing to the ground.

I dismounted. I ran to Fuirnil, her tail was burning. We ran to the conveniently placed river and she dove in. It must have hurt having that beautiful long tail burned. Thankfully, the water was EXTREMELY cold, so her burns stopped easily. We ran back to the dying king. I placed him in front of me. Out of the blue I heard a faint voice.

"We are from Greenwood the Great. Our palace is in the North. The forest is the closest forest you can find," the voice told me.

"Who are you?" I asked the voice.

"I am a soul passing into the Halls of Mandos. This is the last I will ever speak. Thank you for saving our Prince." And the voice was gone. _A prince?_ I thought, _I was close._

I rode fast, I rode hard, I rode for 3 days and 3 nights. The forest was hard to navigate, the Sun was shadowed by the tallest trees I had ever seen. Finally, there were signs of life.

"What is this? A rider with a jewel-crown? Are you trying to be royalty?" asked what was obviously a guard Elf.

"No. Never. How dare you presume that because I have a gift I am royalty. I live alone and I fight alone. I do not answer to… _royals_. I ride into battle because I want to, not because I was ordered to do so," I spat, "Now do you want your prince or not?" These guards were astounded at my rudeness, and that what was draped across Fuirnil was their precious prince.

"I will have to take you to the King, lady…?"

"Gilrin. Gilrin Hathol."

"Lady Gilrin. The King will want to know details."

"Fine." I announced annoyedly, "But don't expect me to stay for more than an hour."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

I felt like a hostage. I was being held by both arms to be taken to the King and all my weapons were taken away. I felt empty without them. I was dragged inside only to be greeted by one of the most majestic Elves I had ever seen. Yet somehow I recognised him. Strangely familiar.

"You brought back my son half dead," the King said, trying not to cry, "How did this happen? How could this happen to my beloved son?"

"King, his hunting party got attacked by a dragon and the reason I even considered bringing him here is because I thought he was the King. I could not leave a nation leaderless." I replied coldly.

"How did you know about the hunting party?" the King demanded.

"They had orc blood on their weapons. It was obvious," I coldly stated.

"You are clever, but troubled. I see it in your eyes…" the King stared into the distance for a moment, maybe too long a moment. I was getting bored… "I would like you to stay at the palace." Finally, some notion he was still alive. "I would like to honour you for saving my son from the dragon. It would take a great deal of courage to run into dragonfire." No, it takes a great deal of bloodlust.

"No, King. I like to be alone. Might I ask before I leave, what is your name?" I asked cooly.

"One does not simply ask the king his name," one of the guards interjected.

"That is true, if one wants to know my name who I want to know it, they would already know." the King stated.

"If you do not tell me, I will not stay," I demanded. The King looked struck by my nerve. I was almost certain that the King had never been given an ultimatum before.

"In order to tell you my name, you must go down to the hospital wing to see that you are alright. That must have been traumatic." Was the King bartering with me?! Now this was getting interesting. But really? Traumatic? Oh please. That was the most fun I'd had in my whole life!

"Fine," I said slightly maliciously, "I will stay and be checked on. Now what is your name?"

"Oropher. King Oropher of Greenwood the Great," he said with much pride. I knew that name from somewhere... Oropher Oropher Oropher... Oropher?

"Were you from Doriath?" I asked more truly intrigued.

"Yes, Menegroth specifically. That is until the Second Kinslaying. I led my son and a few others here. The Silvan elves here took my wife Calaereth and I as their Queen and King respectively," King Oropher said proudly.

"I am of Menegroth too. My father was Arahaelon-" King Oropher cut me off.

"Arahaelon? Arahaelon was my best friend in Menegroth. After the First Sack though, that was one of the saddest days of my long life. But Arahaelon... Gilrin?! Oh you have changed so much! I remember when you were born! Arahaelon was the proudest I had ever seen him, and he had many reasons to be. You were a beautiful child, fair but surprisingly reddish-brown hair. You would come to my study when your mother was busy and so was your father, when you weren't watching him practice fighting. Not very often that would happen. You loved watching him practice his fighting. I am so sorry for your losses. That was horrible to watch."

"Take me to Doriath. To Menegroth. I want to visit their graves," I demanded.

"Gilrin, I am sorry, but Doriath is gone," the King said solemnly.

"Gone? It was taken by some evil?"

"No. The evil was so forceful that the whole of Beleriand is sunk. It is in the realm of Ulmo now," King Oropher said with disdain.

"No. This cannot be. You are lying, my home is still there, my parents graves are still there. You tell me lies," I spat.  
"My lady, from the records, it seems to be that you were there," a guard said from behind. I started to remember that battle. I fought against the worst sort of orcs. I watched the land sink.

"I remember this. I stood by while my home fell, while the force of evil sunk it. I stood by and did nothing about it," I said very far away. I cried out in anguish and stormed out of the palace.

After the second worst moment of my entire life, I demanded my weapons back, and went to the practice range. I shot, I stabbed, I swished my sword. By midnight, the stuffed practice dummy was completely dead, all of its stuffing gone and its fabric torn to shreds. The target was full of arrows, so many arrows the target could no longer be seen. I found a replace dummy in the weapons closet and a spear. I had never learned to use a spear, as I had never found a spearmaster dead in battle before I had to leave. I picked up the spear. I choked the dummy, jabbed it, stabbed it. _This is going pretty well,_ I thought. Suddenly, I felt the presence of someone else with me... it was an odd feeling, like I was being spied upon. I pulled out Berethcrist from her sheath.

"Who goes there? Who stands in the shadows?" I yelled. It was dark by now, and this was feeling very suspicious. Suddenly I saw a streak of silver. Someone was definitely spying.

"Come out from the shadows or I will cut your throat!" I screamed. Finally someone came out.

"You have great talent with the sword," he said. I turned around only to see the Prince of Greenwood. Standing there like he was prince of the world, not just Greenwood.

"You're supposed to be in bed. And what happened to your burns? Were they treated that quickly?" I demanded.

"The healers have already treated my burns," he said mystically. This was just getting weirder and weirder.

"Go back to bed, you were burned today," I ordered.

"Fine, if my lady says so," He responded sarcastically. He left, but he disappeared. Literally faded away. It was almost as if that wasn't him at all, but just an apparition of my imagination.

The next morning, I went to his wing in the healer's ward. He still had the burns, his one eye was completely cataracted where it had been burnt. He was completely asleep. Last night was an apparition, but why had I been thinking of him? Why was he important? Why was he inside my head? It's not like I liked him or anything, I liked no one in the world, except Fuirnil. This confused me very much. Suddenly I saw his good eye open. He started screaming, shouting, screeching for his mother. He was flailing. I yelled for the healers to get the King. I tackled him, or at least tried. He was determined to get his mother. He wrestled, he flailed, he scratched me so hard I bled. This was the mind of an insane ellon. I finally pinned him to his bed, when King Oropher rushed in.

"Ada I need Nana. Ada please? I need to see Nana…" and with that the troubled Prince of Greenwood fell asleep once more. King Oropher stroked the good side of his hair (half had of course been burnt to a crisp) and kissed the good side of his forehead.

"Why was he demanding his Nana?" I asked the King while we walked briskly to the King's study.

"As far as the world is concerned, Calaereth is dead. She was attacked by orcs on the road to Eregion. The world believes that she died. No, she was too strong for that." He opened the doors to the study and sat down. I followed quickly.

"Calaereth was attacked by them, yes. Died? No. She is still alive, but tormented. She may be my wife, but she is no longer Calaereth."

"What happened?" I asked.

"I sent her to Eregion to tell King Gil-Galad of the threat of Angband. I trusted no one else with the mission. No one else could know what I knew, but her. No one but she would stay loyal forever. On the road, just 50 miles before she reached Eregion, she and her party were ambushed by orcs. They were all captured, and tortured. We had not seen them for many months, and I was becoming ever more worried. I hadn't a letter, or any signal of her whereabouts. She had simply disappeared, until one day when she turned up at the door of our palace. She had a strange look about her, she looked darker, her hair was scraggly, and in her eyes I could not see light. Suddenly, she pulled out a knife from a new belt that I had never seen before. She screamed a scream that was almost other-worldly. She came at me with her knife screeching, and attacked me. If not for my defence skills, I would have been dead. She had begun the transformation into an orc. Naturally, being the only one that I love, I believed that I could bring her back. That seeing her husband every day would make her remember her life. I told my dear Thranduil, who was a mere 80 at the time, that his mother was deathly ill, and he trusted me, believed me. I told him that he could not visit her because being so young he would catch it. Such an sweet and obedient young child. Always did what he was told without question. I visited Calaereth every day for one hundred years. Every time she screeched and yelled, screamed for help. It was like she thought I was going to kill her. Eventually, I moved her to a different room so no one could hear her screams. It lasted for a thousand years, me visiting once a day. It got to the point that I found that she could not be alive to the world. I told my son that she had died of the illness. That destroyed him. Thranduil grew into an angry young ellon. He went on hunting trips for days, weeks, months on end. He would come back empty-handed. He stopped obeying, and grew so independent that it was more like defiance. His anger has lasted for one hundred years now. Two weeks ago, he heard me coming out of his "dead" mother's room, but heard a screech. He could hear that it was not me, and being defiant he decided to enter. I heard what happened that night. Thranduil had foolishly left the door open, so I could hear all. He was astonished to see his mother. Calaereth somehow recognised him. She started crying like mad, and so did he. He asked her to say what happened to her. She told him that a dragon had captured her in his talons. The dragon had taken her to am orc cave, where she had been tortured. After that, Thranduil did not talk to me for months. I would try to talk to him, but all he would say is "why should I care", "how am I supposed to know the truth when you lied about lives", and "liar". This broke me. He hated me. When I looked into his eyes all I could see was hate. And then he left. Thranduil and his friends left. I had no idea where, until Galion told me that they had gone orc hunting. I was terrified that they would do something bad. And here we are now. You here, my boy half burnt, my wife still locked away in that horrid room," Now the great King of Greenwood was crying. An awful sight to see.

"You should kill her," I said nonchalantly, not affected at all by the story.

"What?" the King looked up and stopped crying for a moment. "No. I will not kill my dearly beloved. That is out of the question."

"No it is not. She is dead inside anyway it is necessary."

"No. I will not. She is my wife and I will not take discussion of this. I will not kill her and nor will you! End of story!" the King of Greenwood screamed at me as he banged his fist against the table. I decided to leave him in peace.

Wow that took a long time to write! Again, please review, and follow/favourite! If you do, the stars (meaning myself included, I can tell them to do stuff I'm popular) will light your way for the rest of your days. If you don't, the stars will turn away from you and leave you in darkness as the years go by. (I know, I know, that was a little harsh but I'm desperate for reviews!)


End file.
